


Indebted

by Farasha



Category: Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Bloodplay, Comment Fic, Community: porn_battle, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-04
Updated: 2008-03-04
Packaged: 2017-10-03 16:33:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farasha/pseuds/Farasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tseng comes to settle his accounts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indebted

Vincent barely turned as he heard footsteps behind him. Neither of the Turks had recovered to the point of presenting any real challenge; Vincent's abilities with Cure only went so far. "How do you feel?"

There was a pause, and then, "The ribs will take a short while longer to heal, I think," Tseng said. "The head injuries seem to mostly be gone, and my hands are better."

"Better enough?" Vincent asked, tapping his gun.

Another pause. "No," Tseng said. "Not better enough." He walked closer, to stand next to Vincent as he overlooked the river. He looked much better - no more dried and still-sticky blood matted beneath his hair, the split lip had healed, and the bruising around his eyes was fading. "You should have left us," he said. "It would have been a tactical advantage, to deprive the enemy-"

"ShinRa isn't my enemy," Vincent said, fixing Tseng with a cool, blank stare.

Tseng's eyes traveled briefly over the pallor of his skin, his red eyes, the claw, the way he moved with unearthly crispness. "I saw your personnel file," he said finally. "ShinRa should be your enemy."

Vincent rose from where he was sitting, so quickly that he seemed to flicker in and out of reality for a brief moment. "A Turk," he said, "never retires." He loomed close over Tseng, backing him up almost into the tree behind him, and he could see the other man tense at the possibility of his escape being cut off.

But when Tseng looked into his face, and Vincent caught the small, barely-visible edge of a smile. "I should thank you, then."

"No thanks necessary," Vincent said flatly. Something like respect, or curiosity, or both, flickered in the back of Tseng's dark eyes, and Vincent abruptly recognized the signals presented. Tseng was alive when he should be dead, and his partner was alive, and the man in front of him was a Turk - used to cheating death and the rush that followed.

"Let me insist," Tseng said, his voice going deep, and though he opened his mouth to take another breath, Vincent's sealed over it, cutting off whatever he had been about to say and turning it into a puff of warm air Vincent breathed.

He backed them up the bare foot that was left between there and the tree, his claw digging into the bark hard enough to leave gouges, their lips crushed together. Tseng hissed in a sharp breath as his back met the unyeilding wood - his ribs, no doubt - that turned into a hitched gasp as Vincent's hand slid underneath his untucked shirt. Vincent's skin was cool, but Tseng - Tseng was still bruised and feverish, and the heat sank into Vincent's palm as he slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of Tseng's slacks - ripped, dirty and bloodstained - to take him in hand.

Tseng was quiet, even as his hips surged forward, establishing the rhythm counterpointed by short puffs of breath against Vincent's lips. Vincent slid his mouth to the side, down Tseng's jaw, feeling stubble scrape against his tongue.

Tseng's hand came swiftly to rest on Vincent's chest, just below his throat, when he first felt the scrape of Vincent's fangs against his neck. Vincent's hand stilled, his claws tightened minutely in the tree, and he pulled back far enough to look Tseng in the eye.

Tseng was tense, and for all that he was still shaking on the edge of need there was a wariness in the back of his eyes, an iron control. "You read my file," Vincent reminded him.

And there, a scant narrowing of his eyes, like he had been thrown a challenge or had his suspicions confirmed, and Tseng's hand relaxed, slid down Vincent's chest to his waist. "Yes," he said.

Vincent moved then, leaned in, red eyes never leaving Tseng's black until he was flush against the other man, pinning him with no chance of escape. Tseng's hand tightened and loosened, not quite convulsively, more like a nonverbal repetition of consent, and Vincent took the invitation, re-started the rhythm of his hand on Tseng's cock as his fangs pierced the skin at his throat.

Tseng made a tiny, swallowed noise and bucked his hips, and Vincent smiled against his skin.


End file.
